


One More Time Around

by sunshinemcgee



Category: Outer Wilds (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-01-31 01:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinemcgee/pseuds/sunshinemcgee
Summary: “Compassion hurts. When you feel connected to everything, you also feel responsible for everything. And you cannot turn away. Your destiny is bound with the destinies of others. You must either learn to carry the Universe or be crushed by it. You must grow strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors.”― Andrew Boyd, Daily Afflictions: The Agony of Being Connected to Everything in the UniverseThis story is about saying goodbye to everything.It's also end-of-game spoiler-heavy.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Work in progress. Will add more character tags as they come up.

I was not moving. 

After all this time, I finally had everything. I was sure I had everything. I found the coordinates. I located the Vessel. I hovered within arm’s reach of the only power source that could take me to the only place where I had yet to go. But I was not moving. 

Something was wrapping its tendrils within my chest, around my lungs. I glanced at my vitals, immediately cursing my thoughtlessness, but my oxygen meter was full. I was not suffocating. 

It was an emotion I haven’t had to experience in so long, but here it was. I was panicking.

The power source was suspended in the center of the planet’s spherical core, circumferenced by the observation deck. Trying to keep myself from hyperventilating, I propelled myself to the deck, past the Nomai’s communication boards, and to the projection pool. Large stone masks hung on the walls encircling this clearing, seven or eight of them, one fallen to pieces on the deck flooring. I spun between three particular masks unlike the rest, their power supplies and conduits each glowing purple, desperately trying to find any difference between them, any indication of which one of these masks, these memory statues, was mine. 

I knew that when I removed the power source, the entire observation deck, this laboratory, would become inactive. The memory statues would retain nothing. They would send no memories out. I would no longer wake up, twenty-two minutes in the past, with memories of what a previous version of myself had seen and learned. Instead of being my temporal salvation, these masks would simply be impressive works of masonry, and I would be disconnected from them, and time would resume its march forever forward.

Well, not “forever.” Just until the end of everything. Which, unluckily enough, was going to be in about ten minutes. I had faced it before, had seen with my own eyes countless times. An end that I thought was started intentionally by the Nomai, an end that I thought I could prevent. An end that was, crushingly, not the result of scientific progress, but simply the heat death of the universe. An end that I, alone, here in this planet’s core, could free from this time loop and make permanent.

If I had not been in zero g, the weight of all of this would have flattened me to the deck. Instead it sat heavily on my chest, pushing adrenaline and dread through my veins. My breath hitched in my throat, and I realized I was crying, tears slowly falling from one pair of eyes past the other. I swiped my hand up to wipe them away but only grazed the front of my helmet. They couldn’t be helped. I blinked rapidly to clear my vision, but I couldn’t tell any of the statues apart. What would be the point, anyway?

Minutes ticked by. I had to focus. I slowed my breath down as Gabbro had taught me, not enough to fall into complete meditation but just enough to put my thoughts together. Why was I panicking? What was the rush? I had all the time in the universe, these next few minutes and all twenty-two minutes loops after that, to live and relive again and again. This can wait. It can all wait. 

Maybe I was avoiding the inevitable, but it was comforting. My breath came deeper, less constricted. The weight on my chest was still there, but lighter. I floated away from the memory statues further around the deck to the teleportation platform that would take me out of the planet core and onto its surface. I looked up to the center of the core to the power source, still connected to everything. 

I moved over the platform and then I was gone. 

\---

I spent the last few minutes of that cycle on the Ash Twin’s surface. I watched our sun die from the top of a derelict tower. It is not the last star in the sky to supernova, but it is among them. Before all this, I thought our universe was empty enough. Now, with almost every other star gone, I knew how wrong I was.

The star in our solar system collapsed in on itself and exploded. The blast, pure energy, rushed outward in every direction. Before it could reach the Ash Twin I closed my eyes, channeled Gabbro, and exhaled deeply…

...then inhaled, laying in my sleeping bag, next to the campfire on Timber Hearth. Slate prodded the fire with a long stick. Giant’s Deep drifted along its course in the sky above. The stars shone in multitudes once more. Another loop had begun. 

In times before, I’ve sprung up and bolted to the elevator at the other side of the clearing, not even acknowledging my friend, rushed across the launching pad and into my ship, and blasted off in a frantic pursuit of discovery and answers in a race against my own time loop. No need to rush anymore. No more need to rush, ever. I sat up, pulled out my trusty stick, and joined Slate, fishing a marshmallow out of an open tin and stabbing it. I hovered the stick over the campfire and stared at the flames. 

The coordinates I currently possessed led to the Eye of the Universe, a quantum entity of some sort whose signal led the Nomai, a nomadic civilization of scientists and adventurers, to our solar system. During my loops, I’ve followed their tragic arrival, their scrappy and ingenious attempts at survival. I saw them establish cities and research laboratories. I watched them grow their projects, read their communications, found their construction yards and their shrines. All of this was in pursuit of finding the Eye. All of it, for them, led to naught. At the apex of their research efforts, a freak comet had found its way into the solar system and was deemed to be fatally volatile. But the discovery came too late, and there was not enough time for them to brace for impact. Only a rare few even knew that there was anything to fear. Their skeletons, and sometimes their space-preserved corpses, lay in crumpled piles in almost every ruin I explored. I hoped their deaths were instant. Nasty stuff, that ghost matter. It still lingered even now, thousands of years later, though thankfully its patches were few and far between.

It was miraculous that any of their civilization remained intact, but enough of it did. The comet may have killed them, but a fair amount of their technology was still functional and continued to operate. The Eye’s location had even been found, but it would be me, a Hearthian, to take note. 

My stick drifted too far into the flames, and my marshmallow burned to a crisp. I pulled it off the stick and ate it while reaching for another. I didn’t mind the char. Slate seemed lost in their own thoughts, which was fine. I wasn’t sure how to talk to almost anyone, anymore.

It was unfortunate that the Nomai developed only one warp core. That warp core was the power source in the Ash Twin’s core, the only thing keeping me and everything I knew from disappearing completely. It was also the only thing that could power The Vessel, a Nomai ship so far more advanced than ours that it could actually travel across galaxies, far further than our little planet-hoppers could go. It was the only thing that could get anybody to the Eye. Its warp core was dead, though, which left only one other option.

Even before I found the warp core inside of Ash Twin, I was wary about going. I knew the Eye had quantum properties, which meant that it held myriad possibilities until it was observed. I think. Honestly, it was a concept I was still trying to understand. How would I know what would happen? After all, one of the infinite possibilities is that it would do nothing. Would learning that be worth the death of the universe? I wasn’t sure how curious I was to find out. I didn’t want the responsibility of being wrong.

My marshmallow was on fire again. I blew it out and tossed it back into the flames. The sun peeked over the horizon, as bright and sprightly as it ever would. I let my stick drop to the ground and hugged my knees. Slate looked over towards me.

“Hey, you ready to get this thing off the ground? Ship’s all fueled and ready to go.”

I didn’t answer. They cocked their head and peered at me. “I know it’s tradition to sleep out under the stars the night before a launch, but if you ask me it makes you all a bit jumpy.” 

I asked, “Have you heard of the Eye of the Universe?” but I already knew the answer.

“Nope, hatchling, can’t say that I have,” they replied, concern slowly creeping across their face.

“It’s hard to explain,” I mumbled. 

Slate blinked at me and sighed. “Well, let me know when it’s easy,” they said, and went back to poking the fire. I moved to sit on the log next to them. It had been only two and a half minutes since I woke up. We were less than twenty minutes away from the supernova. 

“Can I think out loud?” I asked. Slate’s ears twitched in assent, and I paused to search for the right next word. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that the universe is dying.”

They frowned. “This seems like a what-if for Hornfels, but okay.”

“And let’s say that it is dying right now, rapidly. The end of everything is in twenty minutes. Nineteen, actually.” 

“That’s bleak,” they whistled.

“Yeah. But, let’s also say that there’s this possibility that something exists that we can get to within those twenty minutes that might be able to stop it. But it also might not. It might only keep the possibility of life, alive. You don’t really know what it does, if anything.”

Slate shifted a log in the campfire. “So you’re wondering, do you risk it? Do you go?” 

“I guess you have to! What’s the worst that could happen? The worst is already...would already be happening. But what if nothing happens?” 

“Is this thing the Eye of the Universe?” They asked. I nodded. “It’s a rather impressive name for something that doesn’t do anything, isn’t it? Seems like it would do something. Where is this all coming from? Did you have a weird dream? Or is it nerves?”

I clasped my hands together. “Must be nerves.” 

Slate patted my shoulder. “Whatever this is about, stop worrying. You’re going to be fine. The first day of traveling affects everyone kind of differently. You’ve had plenty of training. You’ll know what to do.” 

I felt us shifting back in time. I knew it would happen eventually, it always did, and I should not have been so disappointed. It had almost felt like a real conversation, for a minute. “Thanks.” I stood up, ready to walk towards the elevator out of habit, but Slate continued.

“You say you only have twenty minutes to get there. I’m assuming that means it’s a one-way trip.”

“Eighteen now, but yeah, probably,” I shrugged. 

“Shame,” they said. “I guess we were never promised time to say our goodbyes.” They looked back at the fire. “Safe travels, hatchling. Doesn't matter if you go to the moon or Brittle Hollow or just the other side of Timber Hearth. It's all the same to me. Get out there and have fun! And shake off those nerves. You’re starting to make me feel jumpy.” They paused. “Or maybe it’s these fumes,” they mumbled. “They are potent.”

I stood there for a moment, then willed my legs to walk towards the elevator. I took it up, crossed the launch pad, boarded the ship, and buckled into the pilot’s seat. I boosted my thrusters and took off, quickly leaving Timber Hearth and its moon Attlerock behind, sky shifting from hazy atmospheric dawn to pitch black, and then flying past Brittle Hollow and Giant’s Deep. As I passed Dark Bramble I fired the retro-rockets, decelerating to a relative halt outside of all of the planet’s orbital paths. I watched the Interloper, doomsday comet for the Nomai, careen on its elliptical arc. Light-years away, a handful of stars were reaching their end, leaving tiny clusters of sparkling light and energy in their wake. As they died, I named them: Mica, Esker, Chert, Hornfels, Slate, Riebeck, Feldspar. On and on, until every Hearthian, all of the villagers of Timber Hearth and the astronauts scattered throughout the other planets, was accounted for. There were more star deaths by then, so I moved onto the Nomai: Pye, Yarrow, Annona, Coleus, Poke, Idaea, Solanum. The stars kept on exploding, long after I had finally run out of names. I slowly realized that I was crying again; this time my sorrow wasn’t frantic, but silent and still. Even though there was no helmet stopping me this time, I didn’t wipe away the tears. 

I had to do it. Go to the Ash Twin, access its core lab, retrieve the warp drive, fly to Dark Bramble, board the Vessel, install the warp drive, and enter the coordinates. I would travel to the Eye. Everything that would happen after that was unknown, but that didn’t matter. It still had to be done. 

Making peace with the stars wasn’t enough, though, so I wouldn’t meet the Eye in the next loop.


	2. Mica

The next time I woke up, I walked away from the launch pad and headed into the village, hopping up the rocky ledges that ascended their way up to the overlook. It was one of the higher points in the residential part of town, as high up as the tops of the trees which grounded their roots in the village below. A small panel of controls were fastened to the fence at the edge of the overlook. Mica stood near them, smiling, hands on hips. Their aviator goggles were comically large, almost dwarfing their small hatchling face. They turned, noticing me, and their grin grew three sizes as they began to bounce excitedly from one foot to the other.

“Hey, it’s you!”

“Hey there Mi-”

“Slate said you’re blasting off in your ship today. I’m really excited to see the launch!”

“That’s -”

“Aren’t you gonna go into space? Aren’t you? You better not have changed your mind!”

“I -”

“You better be! It’s been forever since anyone launched into space.”

“Well -”

“I really, really, want to see it!”

“Mica!” I exclaimed, laughing. “Please! Yes, yes I’m launching today!”

They cheered and pumped their fists in the air. “This is the best day ever!” In a way, I guess they were right. I held out my hand to them, and Mica wheeled their arm around to slap it with wild momentum. 

“Whoa there, hatchling!” I cajoled, shaking out my hand. “You damn near dislocated my arm with that.”

“Sorry,” Mica laughed, grinning wide. “I’m just so excited!” Their gaze shifted from me towards the overlook. “Hey, you want to try out my model ship before you go? Slate says it’s just like the real thing, only less likely to start a fire.”

I crossed my arms. “Less likely, eh?” I asked, as Mica walked over to the controls.

“If it does,” they replied, “I can just build another.” I followed them to the model ship and they stepped aside, leaving me at the helm. The model, almost an exact replica of my own ship, rested on a small shelf right in front of the controls, ready to launch.

“Well?” they prompted. “Give it a go!”

“Sure, sure,” I said, maneuvering one lever, a few buttons. My first attempts at flying this model ship were less than inspiring, but I’ve had time to practice. In a matter of seconds, I flew it off of its shelf and away from us, hovering it fifty feet above the town below. I glanced down at Mica, whose gaze was focused on the ship. “So, where to?”

Mica turned to me, head tilted. “You don’t wanna keep it around here?”

“Why would I? Ships are meant to go. Come on, Mica, give me a challenge.”

Their ears twitched, and they looked to the skies. “Well, it’s supposed to be just like the real thing, so…Oh! I dare you to fly that ship to Esker! Go give them a visit!”

“On Attlerock?” 

Mica just grinned. “You wanted a challenge!”

I chuckled. “Well, alright. To Esker!” I maneuvered the controls, and the model ship flew above the treetops, higher and higher into the sky, until we could barely see it. I kept it at this altitude until Attlerock rose above us.

Mica gasped and pointed. “There! Go go go!”

I shook my head, though. “Not yet,” I said. “Do you see a campfire?”

“No.”

“Then we don’t see Esker.”

Attlerock cruised over our heads and beyond the horizon. “I hope they pass by soon,” they moaned. I hoped so too. Minutes passed, and the moon came by again, rotated around its axis.

“Still no campfire,” they said. “I mean, I can see the smoke, but it’s on the other side.”

“Next time - “ I started to say, but my breath got caught somewhere between my lungs, weighing itself down within my chest. Mica’s ears twitched as they turned their gaze to me.

“Next time?” they asked. 

I closed my eyes, took a slow, deep breath, and moved my hands so that the model ship did loop-de-loops in the air. Mica noticed, and was immediately transfixed by the movements. “Next time,” I continued slowly, collecting myself, “could you add a camera to your ship? Then maybe you could take it out of your sight and still see where you’re going.”

Their brow furrowed. “Oh, good idea. I think...I should be able to do that. Yeah.” They nodded. “Yeah! I can definitely do that! If we had that, then we could even see Esker up close!” Mica pointed. “Look! There they are!”

And there they were. Esker floated above our heads from their camp on Attlerock, the smoke from their campfire drifting down towards us. I boosted the thrusters on the model ship to direct it closer and closer to the moon, matching its trajectory as it went overhead. Using the smoke as a guiding vector, I flew the ship until I was pretty sure it hit the moon’s surface. 

I released my hands from the controls and cracked my knuckles. Then, I turned to the hatchling and gave them a salute. “Engineer Mica, operation Esker Visit is complete.” 

“Wow!” they exclaimed. “You did it!”

“We did it,” I corrected. “You built a damn fine ship.” 

They laughed and wrapped their arms around my waist in a tight hug. “We did it! You might be the best pilot ever!”

“I mean it, though,” I continued. “You have done something exceptional, here. These controls? Just like the real thing. Wonderful piece of workmanship. You ought to be proud.” 

Mica backed up. “Really?” they asked, and it almost sounded bashful.

“Really,” I smiled. They rubbed the back of their neck, smiling to themselves. Mica really did have a future in the Outer Wilds Ventures. If only the universe would have been kind enough to grant it to them. 

They suddenly gasped. “Oh! I should find someone who talks with Esker! I have to ask them if they saw us!” They skipped away from the controls and towards the path into town. “Don’t launch until I come back!” they cried out, waving to me as they ran down the hill. 

I raised my hand to them in return. “I won’t,” I said quietly, but they were already gone. 

I waited by the controls until the supernova filled the horizon with bright blue energy. 

“Bye, Mica,” I sighed, and then I saw nothing.


	3. Marl and Tektite

I found Marl in the middle of the village. Marl is one of our tree keepers, and since wood is our primary building material, they have their work cut out for them. For them, though, the work could get a bit personal. I didn’t know of any other Hearthling who could hold a grudge against a tree. My opinion was that you shouldn’t blame a tree for falling out of it, but I kept that to myself. They’re geared up, though that’s not surprising. With their rucksack, a beanie, and multiple layers of clothing, they’re usually prepared for almost anything. They held an axe in their gloved hands and were looking up towards the canopies, occasionally shaking their head in thought, and I wondered if they had complaints about any of the other trees in town.

“Marl, I’ve got a huge surprise for you. Come with me. And grab a spare axe. We’re gonna need it.”

Marl’s eyes lit up. “Hah! Well how can I say no to that?” They pulled an axe out of a nearby stump and hung it in their toolbelt. “Should I find Hal? No, don’t want to wait! Lead the way!” 

We could have walked there from the village, but the ship was definitely quicker. I had never flown with anyone else in the ship before. It wasn’t meant to have more than one Hearthian in it, so Marl stood behind my pilot’s chair, knees bent slightly to help keep balance, gripping their axe with one hand and my chair with the other. We got there in less than a minute. As I focused on landing the ship, Marl leaned over my shoulder, wide-eyed, mouth open in wonder, staring at what I brought them here to see. As soon as we touched ground, they bounded back, opened the hatch, and jumped out. I suited up and followed them down into the crater. Another Hearthian was already there. They leaned on their pickaxe, studying the large twisted monstrosity that had now inhabited the crater. 

It was an imperfectly spherical pod covered in thorns that stood three times as tall as the tallest Hearthian, supported by three long vines, also thorny and twisted, which stretched out fifty feet and more before anchoring themselves into the ground. The pod had multiple openings scattered across its surface, any of which should have shown us what was inside, but a bright, foggy white light from within shrouded the pod’s contents. Large chunks of ice, as big as a house, haphazardly surrounded this growth like statues around a shrine. 

We all stood in front of this alien wonder, me and Marl and Tektite. 

“Heyo hatchling! Thought you were taking that tin can of yours to space today - what’re you still doing here?”

I smirked and gestured to the gnarled pod and extremities in front of us. 

“You noticed too, eh? I saw something crash over the horizon and didn’t like what I was seeing in the pictures my Little Scout was sending back, so I thought I’d come over here myself and take a look.”

“What is it?” Marl asked.

“I dunno what it is, exactly. Looks like some kind of plant seed, but it’s not like anything I’ve seen on Timber Hearth before - and trust me, I was quite the explorer back in the day.” Their prosthetic leg creaked as they shifted their weight. They’d be the first to tell you how lucky they were that the ghost matter had only taken one limb from them. 

“Looks extraterrestrial,” I commented placidly.

“D’you think?” Tektite asked. “It kinda looks like something that might’ve come off of Dark Bramble. Whatever it is, it put down roots in a hurry.”

“Wait,” Marl interjected, “you said this thing just crashed here. It’s already dug its roots in this deep?” Tektite nodded. “That’s...not great.”

I nodded, too. It was a Dark Bramble seed, no question. The Dark Bramble used to be just another planet before these weird seeds took hold, an icy world with orange jellyfish underneath its frozen surface. Now, though, it was completely destroyed, in its wake a tangled mess of vines and pods whose insides were much, much larger than their outsides. If a supernova wasn’t about to end Timber Hearth, this growth most certainly would.

“I don’t like the look of this thing, hatchling,” Tektite said, turning to me, “and that’s a fact. Right before you got here, I was actually just thinking of setting Marl and Hal loose on it. Best get rid of this mess sooner rather than later, and no one can remove an unwanted plant faster than a tree keeper can.”

Marl laughed. “Damn right!” 

“I’ll have to get a look at what’s inside the seed, first, though. Don’t want to set anybody to hacking up a potentially dangerous plant without a better idea of what’s lurking inside.”

Tektite was right to be concerned. As if breaking both planets and the laws of space-time wasn’t enough, these seeds also housed giant anglerfish, which dangled bright lights from the ends of their lures, beacons in the thick fog that shrouded the rest of their bodies. They were blind, but had keen hearing, and would destroy anything that disturbed them with their spiky teeth and gaping mouths. It was not a good way to go. I knew it well. 

“Tuff can help me haul the old scout launcher over here. Obviously the opening is too small for someone to fit inside, and anyway, I’m not gonna blindly stick my hands into anything that looks as unpleasant as that seed does. That’s a good way to lose an arm or two.” Tektite paused. “Or d’you think that would work?” they asked, gesturing toward my Scout Launcher. I smiled, heaved it upright, and aimed the Launcher’s barrel at one of the pod’s holes. With a pull of the trigger, a Little Scout materialized and zoomed out of my launcher straight into the pod. A small display on my helmet’s visor showed me pictures of what the Little Scout could see, documenting its journey through that space-time schism, sailing through the fog. For reasons I simply can’t understand, each pod’s interiors were all connected and intertwined in a weird labyrinth. Right now, my Scout was both here, in this pod in front of us, and somewhere in the center mass of the Dark Bramble itself. I knew where the Scout would eventually land, but for our current purposes it was no concern of the two Hearthians with me. 

I put down the Scout Launcher and took my helmet off. “I’d go around the pod, for now,” I stated, zipping my suit open and shrugging it off, “but I think you’re safe if you wanted to hack away at these vines. Try to disanchor it, somehow.”

Marl grinned. “Can do!” they exclaimed, and started towards one of the closer vines. They raised a fist and knocked on the vine in a few different places, listening. “The exterior is thick,” they muttered, “but it seems hollow inside. Good thing I sharpened my tools earlier.” They smiled, hefted their axe up in the air, and brought it down with a satisfying thunk. 

“Wow,” they breathed. “I’ve never chopped anything alien before.” They chuckled, raised the axe again, and swung it down again. “Wow!” A couple more swings later, they chopped in steady rhythm, laughing loudly and crying out in excitement. 

Tektite asked, “What about the pod, though? We have to get rid of it somehow.”

I shrugged, pretending to carefully consider our options. “Maybe after we separate it from the vines, we can tie it to my ship and I can launch it into the sun.”

They grunted. “Might be too heavy. We also don’t know how quickly it can regrow roots. Might be dangerous for your ship, too.”

“Might be. We won’t know until we know. In the meantime, I’m going to help Marl out. See if we can’t break through some of these vines.”

“I’ll keep watch for anything fishy, I guess,” they responded. “I should keep myself to brainstorming, anyway.” 

I walked over to Marl and gestured at their spare axe. They paused to hand it to me and I inspected their progress. A deep gash marred the vine, but it hadn’t made it all the way through the exterior. 

“Tough vine,” I commented.

“Yeah,” they responded, “but I’ve chopped tougher.” I took the axe and rolled my shoulders back. 

“It’s been a while,” I said apologetically. 

They huffed amiably. “It ain’t complicated. Maybe hard. Might take you longer. Just go at your own pace. And don’t try to keep up with me. We can’t all be pros.” They winked their left eyes at me, then turned back to the vine in front of them.

We chopped together. My whole upper body ached after only a few minutes, but I was glad for the work out. I had only really ever needed enough strength to carry my equipment and jet pack, so it felt nice to be doing something a little different. The palms of my hands started to feel raw, though, and I cursed myself for not thinking of asking Marl for an extra set of gloves.

The crater we were all in was so deep that I couldn't get a clear view of our sun. I didn't need to see it to know that by now it would be a dark, deep red, and that our time was almost up. With a final swing, Marl broke through the vine's wall. With a couple more thwacks, a part of the vine collapsed in on itself, and the pale white fog shone in our faces. Compared to the darkness that was now the rest of the universe, it was blinding. I whistled to Tektite, who drew themselves away from the pod to walk over to us. I set my axe down and shook my hands out, trying to soothe the already-developing blisters. 

"What is this?" Marl asked. "Is it safe?"

"The same light's coming out of the pod," Tektite replied, "and that doesn't seem to be doing much harm."

"I bet it's alright," I said, and thrust my hand into the opening before they could stop me. 

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Tektite gasped. I smiled at them and drew my hand out, waving my fingers around. 

"See? It's fine." 

Marl's mouth was gaping. "You're alright?" I nodded. They hesitated, then moved closer to the hole. They placed their hands on either side of the opening and leaned their head forward, slowly, until it was halfway through. 

Tektite fidgeted. "What's in there?"

"Dunno, it's all the same white fog." Their voice sounded muffled, as though they were speaking from another room. They pulled their head out. "It's weird. I know how far away the other side of the vine is, but I can't even see it at all." They backed up to take the whole vine into account. "We're going to have to keep chopping our way around."

Tektite and I joined Marl. The fog shone up into the sky like a beacon. Tektite followed its path, frowned, and turned their gaze straight up into the sky. "Why's it so dark?" they asked. Marl looked too, brow also furrowing. I knew what it was, but I couldn't open my mouth to tell them. What could I even say? From the crater, we couldn't see the sun collapsing in on itself, but we could hear a deep far-away rumbling, and the blue waves of the explosion soon raced across the sky. 

"What...?" Marl asked, dismayed. "What is that?" 

"That's not good," Tektite murmured. 

I reached out and grasped their hands. If they found this odd, I didn't really care. I squeezed my eyes shut, and concentrated on the roughness of Marl's glove and the warmth of Tektite's fingers. I rapidly tried to imprint the textures in my memory as the roar of the supernova grew louder and louder, as it rushed in and overtook Timber Hearth. 

Suddenly, all went dark. A moment later, waking up by the campfire once more, I rose my empty hands up above my face. I grazed my fingers over my unmarred palms, and I could almost imagine the blisters.


	4. Riebeck

I woke up next to the campfire and thought about my plans for this loop. There were still so many others to visit on Timber Hearth, but I moaned at the idea of walking through the village for the umpteenth time in my life. I thought of the hatchling siblings who were waiting for one last game of hide-and-seek. I was younger than they were when I first had the dream of exploring our entire system with the Outer Wilds Ventures. That itch to leave everything familiar behind and get out into space, even after all this time, still needed scratching, and I didn’t try to fight against it. I stretched and inhaled the crisp early-morning air tinged with woodsmoke. I exhaled so loudly that Slate looked up at me, a bit startled. “Don’t mind me, friend,” I grinned, and made my way to my ship. During launch, I waved at Timber Hearth, promising myself that I’d spend more time there later, and aimed my sights towards Brittle Hollow. 

There were many ways to get to the campsite, but my preferred route started at the Tower of Quantum Knowledge. From the surface of Brittle Hollow, the tower was merely a small elevated platform jutting from the crust. Everything on this planet lay below. I took a staircase from the top and descended, winding my way down below the surface a couple hundred feet to the tower’s base. From here, a series of hoverpaths suspended me in the air and guided me through the planet’s mostly-empty core to the Crossroads. The black hole loomed far beneath my feet as I drifted along. What was once a terrifying presence was now simply an unpreferred detour. Funny how that's changed. 

The hoverpath came to its end, setting me down onto the Crossroads platform. Echoes of music that had been drifting my way now clarified into banjo twangs. Riebeck was close. I turned the corner and went through a small passage, and was greeted by a campfire, scattered scientific equipment, and the banjo-playing archaeologist themselves. Riebeck’s suit made them look much larger than I remembered they actually were, like a very large marshmallow on two very short sticks. I wondered if they dressed like that for warmth, or if the extra layers helped create a bubble of security. Their helmet turned from their instrument at the sound of my entrance. When they saw me, they jolted.

“Oh, you launched!” they exclaimed, their voice shaky. “That’s great. Great job, you. Wow, I guess that means -” 

“Hey, thanks, I mean it, really,” I stammered, pulling off my helmet as I walked into the tree-lined clearing, “but, I’m sorry, I have a lot to tell you and almost no time, so, please, just listen, and don’t ask anything until I’m done…”

I told them everything as quickly as I could. Well, not everything - not about how Yarrow and Clary, because Riebeck would get too distracted by the romance of it all, and not about the Quantum Moon’s resident, not yet - but the larger things: why the Nomai were here, how they survived on our system’s planets, their experiments, and what it meant for them and me and us and our system and the universe. It felt weird, rushing to get it all out. They hadn't seen me since I was a younger hatchling. I briefly wondered if they even remembered my name. My lecture was apparently enthralling enough to forego such pleasantries, and I was grateful for that. They deserved to know it all. The whole village was rooting for Riebeck when they joined the Outer Wilds Ventures. Everyone knew (and pretended not to know) that they feared the vastness of space, and yet they still sat in the pilot’s seat and launched themselves straight into it. All in the pursuit of learning everything they could about the Nomai. 

“...so that’s what I’m planning to do,” I concluded. “That’s all I know. I don’t know what’ll happen once I get there, but I guess I’ll find out.”

I sat down across the campfire from a stunned Riebeck. I closed my eyes, suddenly fatigued. It took me countless loops to learn everything I had just told them. The information trickled into me like dripping water, but to Riebeck it must have been like a geyser to the face. 

“Okay,” they started, “Wow. Um. So, last things first. The Eye. You don’t have time to go to it in this loop, even if you left right now, if what you’ve learned about the length of the cycle is correct.” I nodded, eyes still closed. “Um, so, I’ll still keep on going forward, then? I mean, this will just be another loop to you, and I'll forget all of this?”

“I’m sorry,” I replied softly, “but I thought you would want to know. Even just once.”

They nodded. “No, you’re right. Even if...when, I forget, at least I’ll be able to know all about the Nomai at this moment in time.” They fiddled with the neck of their banjo. “I came out here to learn all about them on my own adventure, and you just walk into my camp with everything I wanted to know. More than I could have ever imagined.”

“To be fair,” I interrupted, “I’m sure if you saw the same things I did, you’d be much better and quicker at really understanding the Nomai, culturally-speaking. This is your field, not mine.”

They sighed, nodded. “If I’m being honest, I’m, um, envious that I didn’t get to discover any of this for myself.” They plucked at the lowest banjo string, letting it echo. “I mean, don’t get me wrong! I’m happy to learn this much about them at all, and about...well, everything else, I guess. It’s terrible, but I’m glad to have the whole story, I think, even if I only know it for now. I’m just sad to know that I won’t ever be able to learn any more. I’m sorry. I, just, um, learning the secrets of the Nomai is...was...is? my dream. I wish I had the time that you had. Or, have.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, “I really am. It’s not fair to you. You deserve more. But, believe me, you don’t want this. Time-looping gives me endless opportunities, yeah, but also, it’s...heavy, never forgetting what’s coming next.” The words left me and hung thickly in the air, like an uncomfortable truth told to a friend on their hatchday. “Besides,” I hastily pushed on, “I had to go to Dark Bramble for some of this. If you’re afraid of space, then,” I whistled, “that’s not the place for you.”

They shuddered, and we fell silent. I helped myself to one of their marshmallows and got out my trusty stick. I held it over the fire.

“Does my campsite ever fall into the black hole?” Riebeck asked. 

I smiled softly. “No. Never. You’re stable.”

“Oh, good,” they said, relieved. “That’s...good. It’ll be nice to have some solid ground under me when everything, um, ends.”

I popped a perfectly toasted marshmallow in my mouth. “Do you want to explore with me?” I asked, in between sticky bites. “To the Hanging City, or anywhere else? We have some time left. I’ve been around this planet once or twice and, trust me, no way’s a one-way trip.” I tilted my head over the ledge towards the black hole below. “Even that’s not so bad, really.”

They froze. I couldn't see through their visor, but I knew their eyes were as wide as moons. “No. You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” I laughed. “An embarrassing number of times, actually. I was trying out some new ways of getting around and...don’t worry! There’s a way to get back! The Nomai built a teleportation station on the other side. They must have had bad luck with it, too.” 

“Wait, seriously? They were clever enough to harness the power of teleportation, but still fell into the black hole? Repeatedly? Enough to warrant creating a safety net?” I shrugged. They chuckled. “It’s weird to think of them being so fallible, you know? I built up this grand image of what they must have been like, all wise and, well, better, but maybe I glorified them a bit too much.”

I saw my segue. “That reminds me,” I said, smiling slyly, “I told you how I’ve been to the Quantum Moon? I talked to a living Nomai there. Well, she’s Quantum, so kind-of alive, but -” 

The banjo fell out of Riebeck’s hands and clattered dissonantly on the ground. “There’s a Nomai on the Quantum Moon?! WELL, WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO?” Riebeck sprang to their feet and clasped their helmet with both large gloved hands. “Oh wow! Wow! This is the best thing that's ever happened in the history of Outer Wilds Ventures! I can't believe you talked to an actual Nomai!”

So, I told them about Solanum. Again. Throughout my past loops, I told Riebeck about the mysterious Nomai any chance I could. This was my favorite experience to share with them, every single time. Their shock, awe, and pure joy always made my heart flutter. I drank it in. I loved making them this happy. It was infectious. 

They paced back and forth, gesticulating wildly in the air and interrupting with exclamations, as I told them about her and her Pilgrimage. I was in the middle of describing how she and I used her tools to communicate (“Oh, I wish I could see those for myself!” Riebeck cried), when we were interrupted by the inevitable rumbling of the end. By now, enough of Brittle Hollow had fallen into the black hole, so we could look through the remaining shell of the planet and watch the sky growing darker and darker, almost pitch black, as the sun's light retreated and collapsed in on itself.

Riebeck halted. “Is...is this it?” they asked quietly. 

“It is,” I replied. 

A low explosion trembled through the air, and the blue tendrils of the supernova crept their way towards us. Riebeck stared at the sky. I moved close to them. Without looking away they slung their arm around my shoulders, pulling me in to their side. Even through their many layers I could feel them trembling.

“Thank you,” they said, “for everything. And good luck. You've done so much already. You can do this.”

My heart jumped into my throat. I hugged their waist tight. 

And that was all.


	5. Solanum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-------------
> 
> It's been a while since I last posted. Thank you all for reading. 
> 
> Originally, I wanted to hold onto this chapter until later, but when I decided to start writing again, this one kind of insisted on being first. 
> 
> Also, Outer Wilds is on Steam now! Tell your friends :)
> 
> \-------------

I spent a few loops practicing this route. In order for my most recent plan to succeed, I needed to time everything as perfectly as I could. After a few test runs to work out the kinks, my confidence was as sturdy as it was going to be. As soon as I next woke up next to the campfire, the race against time began.

I landed my ship on the Interloper, suited up, and jumped out. I rushed to the tail end, picked up the recording that still remained by the Nomai shuttle, and beamed it up into my own ship as I ran past it towards the head of the comet. Then, I waited. This was the third-worst part of the plan. Everything was delicate enough as it was, and I was impatient. When we got close to the sun, the ice melted, and I made my way into the comet with haste. Thanks to my practice runs, I knew which tunnels to take to avoid the ghost matter, which walls of ice I could bank off of and gain momentum, and I quickly found myself in the zero-G chamber at the core of the comet.

I hated this place. I didn’t want to come back, but I needed that second recording. It was floating in the core next to Pye’s lifeless body, both small and fragile in front of a massive crater of ghost matter. It gave me the heebie-jeebies. I tucked the recording under one arm and reached out to pat the Nomai’s shoulder. “Thanks and sorry, Pye,” I said softly, and I flew away. Making my way back to the Interloper’s surface took some time, and I didn’t have any to waste.

Once I was finally out, I slid across the Interloper’s surface back to my ship, which thankfully hadn’t been carried away into space. I buckled in and boosted away from the comet, spinning the ship around, aiming my sights every which way. This was the second-worst part of the plan. The Quantum Moon was unreliable by nature, never keeping one orbit for too long. Soon I spotted it by Brittle Hollow, and I zoomed towards it. My ship’s Scout took a picture of it as I got close. I kept it in my eyesight as I descended into its cloudy haze. Once landed, I strapped one recording to my pack, hefted the other one under my arm, and bounded out.

This was the worst part of the plan. The Interloper gave me the heebie-jeebies, but the Quantum Moon made me nauseous with nerves. The Quantum shards scattered across our planets have haunted my nightmares since I was a small hatchling. The Moon put them to shame. Everything on its surface moved around of its own accord, and the surface itself changed, too, depending on around which planet the Moon decided to orbit. A “fun” feature. I spun around a couple of times until the Tower popped into view not ten feet away from me. It stood, looming and unsettling, but I stepped through its door. I didn’t want to seal it behind me and turn off all of the lights, but it had to be done. I felt the ground change underneath me as the Tower and the Moon travelled. I hated leaving the Tower to see where we were, to push us further and further north. After a few attempts, the Tower was parked at the north pole. I walked through its door onto the Moon’s new purply-blue swirly rockscape, which, yes, I also hated. I took a couple of slow, deep breaths, and started to make my way south.

She stood at the south pole, flanked by two vertical rock slabs, as though she were waiting for visitors. What were the chances, the odds, that a Nomai was on her pilgrimage to the Moon when the Interloper flew into the star system? Was it good luck or bad luck that everything on the Moon became quantum by proxy? Solanum watched my approach with an air of academic curiosity. When I drew close, she pointed her staff at one of the two slabs and summoned up her communication stones. She turned back to me, noticed what I was carrying, and froze. I set the recorder in my arms down in front of her then stepped back to remove my pack. Solanum looked from it to me, and moved her digits across the flat surface of her staff before touching it against the other slab. I pulled out my translator:

“This is a recording device. We use them to transcribe any notes or observations that we may make vocally, but do not have the time nor the patience to write down. I am surprised to see you with not only one, but two of these devices. Do you understand them? I should also ask, do you understand me?”

I nodded, then was suddenly worried that a nod could be taken as an offensive gesture to the Nomai. I waved my translator at the device, instead, knowing she would understand that gesture at least. Solanum knelt to the ground and fiddled with the controls. She was a much quicker reader than I was, but I tried to keep up:

“CLARY: This is troublesome: It seems the comet wishes to submerge our shuttle in ice. If we stay on the surface too long, the shuttle may freeze entirely...PYE: Yes, but the exploration of the comet will be more difficult if we were without the shuttle...CLARY: Suppose one of us remained in the shuttle to keep it warm...PYE: That would be wise, I think, Clary. If you don’t mind waiting here with it, Poke and I can continue…”

The recording ended. Solanum sat back on her...heels? Hooves?...and cocked her head at me, clutching at her staff almost defensively. I could only interpret her body language through a Hearthian’s perspective, but if I was correct, she was rattled. After a few moments she rapidly moved her hands over her staff and pointed it at the slab again:

“Pye. Clary. Poke. I know them. Do you? How did you find this device? Why are you showing me this?”

I unstrapped the second recording device from my pack. My heart was already falling into my stomach.

I was wrong before. This was the worst part of this plan.

I gave the device to her and took a step back. Solanum read these messages more slowly, deliberating over every word:

“POKE: The spherical stone casing here seems to be the source of the energy readings...No, rather, the source is what’s within the stone. I’m detecting some form of exotic matter.  
PYE: The stone is muting our energy readings; they should be ten times what we’re seeing, at least.  
POKE: Pye, I don’t think we want this matter interacting with us. As far as I can tell, direct contact with it would almost certainly be fatal.  
PYE: I’ve never encountered anything like this casing, but it’s all that’s protecting us from what’s inside. Worse still, this matter is disturbingly volatile.  
POKE: ...Pye. Whatever the matter inside this stone casing is, it’s more than just profoundly unstable; it’s under tonnes of pressure. Look at this density scan. I’ve never seen anything this tightly compacted before! What is this?  
PYE: This is orders of magnitude worse than I’d imagined. If this stone were to rupture, the lethal matter within would rapidly expand, completely blanketing this star system almost immediately. And the pressure is still building as the comet approaches this star system…  
PYE: Return to the shuttle, right now! The rest of our friends need to know they’re in terrible danger. Leave your equipment and run!  
POKE: What are you doing, Pye?!  
PYE: The more we know about this alien matter, the better our chances of survival. I will learn what I can here. Go, warn the others: maybe they can construct some shelter somehow...Now, Poke!”

Solanum paused for only a moment to look up at me, then replayed the messages. After it ended, she scooted over to a slab, rested her back against it, and looped it again. I took an awkward step or two back and searched the area for any small pebbles. Once I had gathered enough, I moved to the communication stones, and pulled three of them out of the slab. I turned back to her. The third playthrough was over. She was hugging her knees, staring off into the distance. I sat on the ground in front of her, set the stones and pebbles down, and rested my hand on her elbow. She looked at me but did not pull away. I moved my hand off of her and towards two of the stones. Her gaze followed my hands and rested on the symbols on the stones: one of her, and the other of the Quantum Moon. She reached for her staff and moved her hand slowly over the device:

“So it is as I suspected. I am not entirely alive. I had hypothesized that the Moon made some sort of navigational error in one of its other states. I could not find another explanation for my demise. It is clear that I lack imagination.”

She let her staff drift back to the ground, distracted by her thoughts. Then:

“Your species was young, when we discovered you. How long has it been since these recordings? How long has my clan been dead?”

This was my final gambit. I moved the two stones to the side and flipped over the third. The Eye of the Universe. I arranged my gathered pebbles, one at a time, into three separate symbols below the stone. After the last pebble was placed, I looked at her, hoping that Solanum would follow my trail. She stared at the rocks.

I waited, fidgeting.

We did not have much time left. If she didn’t understand…

Her hands moved over the staff:

“Everyone has heard the news that the Sun Station did not succeed. To say it was disheartening would be a massive understatement. These recordings suggest that we perished before we could try a new way to make the sun supernova, and to power the project. Yet, you bring me the coordinates.”

Solanum paused. Then:

“There are three possibilities: one, that you figured out where we had failed, and used our works to explode the sun to continue our work; two, that we took our chances, however improbable, and fired the probe in the exact right direction, right before this exotic matter killed us, and you just happened to stumble upon them; and three, that the sun is dying a natural death, and the project and all it entails is following its course. I mean you no offense, but the last possibility is the most likely. My four-eyed friend, has it been so long?”

I nodded again, pretty sure that it wouldn’t be interpreted as obscene.

She continued:

“To summarize: I am dead, in all manners that matter. You are in the Ash Twin Project’s memory loop, powered by the natural supernova of our sun. Our clan’s greatest mission has succeeded, but you are the one to reap the rewards. Hypothesis: The Eye did call out to us after all, but only because we were a necessary component in its plan. It needed us to help you. That is all that it wanted from us...That is...”

Solanum let her sentence trail off. She stood, walked to the communications stone, and picked up the one depicting me. She placed it next to the Eye of the Universe stone.

“Suppose you could reach the Eye of the Universe: Would you try to enter it? What do you imagine the effects of a conscious observer might be? You must find out. My clan’s work must not be for naught.”

Her head dipped down to the side. Then:

“You and I, we are connected by either very fortunate or very unfortunate circumstances. I am sorrowful with grief. I am elated with success. I do not know how to feel. This changes everything, but it also changes nothing.”

Solanum set her staff down and extended a hand to me. I grabbed it, and she helped me to my feet with a surprising ease, given the fragility of her bones. We were now face-to-face. She moved her head towards me and rested the forehead of her helmet on mine. I peered into her helmet, searching for any trace of Nomai underneath. Her eyes were clearly powerful enough to see my eyes through my visor, even at a distance, but I couldn’t make out Solanum’s features at all. We stood like this for five seconds, ten seconds, twenty. Shivers crawled up my back and my arms. In this moment, she was my sister, to put it in Nomai terms. I wanted to believe that she felt the same bond, however fleeting. I knew I would never know.

Slowly, she backed away, until we were a few feet apart. She reached to her staff:

“You have given me much to think about. I am curious for you, my friend, but I must use what time we have left to process.”

With that, she propped her staff against the slab and turned away from me.

I hesitated a moment, then turned away as well. I had a minute, maybe two minutes left at most. No matter how many times I have died before, none of them happened while I was still orbiting the Eye. That was on purpose; I never wanted to take that risk, so I made sure to never be here at the loop’s end. I was also too nervous to leave any other way than the way I came in, so I boosted my jetpack and hustled as quickly as I could to the Tower.

I flew into the Tower’s open door, slammed it behind me, and turned off the light. My feet were immediately submerged ankle-deep in water and I heaved a sigh of relief. Beyond the door, the Quantum Moon was now covered in a thin layer of ocean, the green cloudy sky of Giant’s Deep above. I was back in my star system and safe, relatively speaking. I walked away from the Tower and sat in the water, gazing over the horizon.

As I waited for the end, I noticed that I didn’t feel nervous anymore. That emotion had been replaced with a deep melancholy. I should have felt satisfied, or accomplished; I had told Solanum everything that I could. My plan for this loop had succeeded.

In the face of mass extinction, though, any relief gained through that knowledge must have felt as shallow to her as it once did to me.


	6. Checking In: #?

“Hey Gabbro.”   
“Hey, time buddy. What’s up?”  
“I have some news.”  
“Oh?”  
“I figured out how to break the loop.”  
“Huh. It’s possible, then. Neat.”  
“...”  
“...“  
“...Neat? That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Aren’t you curious about it?”  
“Well, I guess, now that you mention it, yeah.”  
“Come on, Gabbro, this is serious.”  
“Alright, I’m listening. I guess you made it into the elusive ATP after all, then. What did you find?”  
“It’s big. I mean, not in size, but in...okay, the ATP is the only thing keeping the loop going. It was created specifically for that purpose. I pull out its warp core, disable it, and time can move forward for us again.”  
“Sounds simple enough. You going to do it?”  
“It’s crazy to think about, but probably, yeah. Mostly because that same warp core can power up the Nomai’s Vessel. If there wasn’t that, then I don’t know.”  
“Oh. Going to the Eye, then?”  
“That’s the plan. Eventually.”  
“That should be a trip. Swing by before you head out there. We won’t be time buddies anymore, though, so we’ll have to come up with something new.”  
“Gabbro, that’s...remember? The supernova?”  
“Ah, right. That. No way to stop that from happening, then?”  
“...”  
“I guess that’s a silly question.”   
“If you think any one of us could stop the sun from exploding, I have a bridge in Brittle Hollow to sell you.”  
“And I would have to pass on that offer.”  
“And even so, if one of us could stop it, it won’t solve anything.”  
“Right, because of the whole, every other star dying, thing.”  
“Yeah, time buddy, the end of the universe, that ‘thing.’”   
“Hm. That’s a sticky marshmallow.”  
“...”  
“...”  
“Anyways, I just thought I should let you know about all that.”  
“It’s good to know. Thanks for thinking of me.”  
“Of course, Gabbro. Time buddies have to stick together.”  
“Metaphorically, of course.”  
“If you wanted, I can fly you off of this island, in case you wanted to visit anywhere or anyone…?”  
“Maybe. I’ll mull it over. Speaking of which, I haven’t had Porphy’s sap wine in a while.”  
“Well there’s an idea! You should consider it. I’ll come by in a few loops, give you some time to think it over, no pressure.”  
“Sounds like a plan. Are you heading out now? Stick around, we could make up a poem together. You say one word, I’ll say the next…?”  
“Eh, another time.”  
“We do have that luxury. Until we don’t.”  
“Until we don’t. See you around.”  
“Safe travels.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * floot *


End file.
